


a fast talker and a crowd pleaser

by cabriesun



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ALTERNATE UNIVERSE: VEGAS HAS REAL BEACHES, Actor Lance (Voltron), Alcohol, College, College Student Keith (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), Dancing, Drinking, Fluff, Gay Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Las Vegas, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Vacation, lance is older, mild drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-06 14:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15196799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabriesun/pseuds/cabriesun
Summary: “These fireworks are lame as hell…” Keith mutters to himself, every hair atop his head unmoving as the firecrackers explode in the sky. He safely assumes neither Shiro nor Matt heard him over the noise, the two of them still mesmerized and taking a long stream of photos on their phones.“I know right.”Keith turns to the side where the voice continues to speak,“I mean, we’re paying like what, thousands of dollars? And they can’t give us a big finale, or something more interesting than a bunch of willows?”Take a famous actor and a dysfunctional college junior. Then, add a week in a swanky Vegas hotel, and a whirlwind of feelings that could be considered incomprehensible in a period as short as theirs.This, is the story of a fast talker and a crowd pleaser.





	1. SANS

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EggheadJade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EggheadJade/gifts).



> i only seem to write klance for exchanges... which is kinda funny aha...
> 
> hey guys! this is my [summer shklance exchange](https://shancesupportsquad.tumblr.com/tagged/shklance-summer-exchange-2018) fic for [jade](https://eggheadjade.tumblr.com/)! i had endless fun with this au and was so so happy to have the opportunity to make this for you!
> 
>  **important note:** all spanish phrases and terms were checked! i took classes for years, but i'm _not_ fluent. if there are any issues with the language in this work, please let me know via my tumblr (end notes)!
> 
> also, i've never been to vegas, and was informed that there are no real beaches. just sand, and buildings. **that's gonna change for this AU.**
> 
> enjoy the story...!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sans: without

_Red frames…_  
   
_Black frames…_  
   
The airport commotion carries on behind him as the world in front of him stops, focusing on the two pairs of sunglasses sitting pretty in their display cases.  
   
“Red…” his thumb presses into his chin, clear frustration written all over, “or black…”  
   
This shouldn’t be a hard decision, but yet it is. Keith, being the smart packer he always has been, forgot his sunglasses on his bedroom dresser. Knowing how brutal the sun in Vegas is, and fully determined to attain that poolside tan at the hotel, sunglasses are essential.  
   
“Let me guess,” Shiro steps up next to him, observing his view, “red or black?”  
   
“Red or black,” he nods, neglecting Shiro’s presence.  
   
“…Well you know I’d pick black.”  
   
Keith smirks deviously, waving over the female cashier that he knows has been staring at him for the past five minutes.  
   
“I’ll take the red ones,” he announces his decision, enjoying the way Shiro’s easy gaze turns into one of disbelief.  
   
“You—what the fuck?!”  
   
“Anything you can do, I can do better, and in a different color,” Keith spins on the balls of his feet, sending his best friend a cocky wink before practically skipping to the cash register. _No,_ he wasn’t waiting for Shiro to weigh in with his opinion. By the two of them messing around with each other like this is a past time he’ll always love. Even when they’re supposed to be adults, getting college degrees and jobs.  
   
College is _hard_. Harder than anyone really gives it credit for. It’s part of the reason why he and his friends had decided on this impromptu trip in the first place. Too many books, too many expectations; it would have, without a doubt, gotten to their heads if Shiro hadn’t offered up Vegas.  
   
It’s only a few days, but a few days is better than a minute in the hallway to take a breather.  
   
Once his sunglasses are purchased, he and Shiro make headway for the terminal, where their third friend awaits their arrival. Matt Holt sits in one of the metal chairs attached to the wall parallel to the entrance gate they're due to enter any minute now.  
   
“Well well well,” he locks his phone, glancing up at the two as they approach, “you decided on red?”  
   
“Shiro was helpful,” Keith shrugs, knowing his friend’s glare is burning into the back of his head, “how long until we can go on the plane?”  
   
“Two—”  
   
An alarm blares in the place of Matt’s voice, their terminal opening and answering Keith’s question for him. They exchange excited glances as they pick up their carry-ons, going through the terminal and eventually seating themselves in the oh-so-luxurious plane seats. Keith bites down on his lip, looking out his window excitedly before glancing back at Shiro and Matt, who sit across the other side of the aisle with matching grins.  
   
Yeah, this one was going to be a good one.

 

\-----------------

 

They’re an hour into their two-hour flight from Seattle, and Keith’s already feeling boredom consume him. His desire for lounging on the beach is itching at him, red hot and desperate to be quenched. But for now, he’s stuck on this plane. It’s one of the shorter flights, and he should be grateful he isn’t on a connecting flight, but sadly it doesn’t change the fact that he wants out.  
   
He gets up from his seat, creeping to where Shiro and Matt huddle themselves around the former’s laptop. Keith peeks at the screen from above, his face contorting in confusion.  
   
“What is that?” he asks, and Shiro pops his headphone out of his ear, pausing the movie they’re so invested in.  
   
“One of the best movies I’ve ever watched,” He responds, matter-of-fact as Matt nods absently behind him.  
   
“What’s it called…?”  
  
“ _Death of a Thousand Roses_ ," Matt says, “the main actor is so fucking sexy.”  
   
“What’s his name?”  
  
“Lance McClain. He’s super famous, got a bunch of awards and shit. He always brings his mom, it’s super cute. And his ass was bestowed upon him by the gods, I swear…”  
   
Keith peers further as Matt and Shiro fangirl, noting a head of curly, brown hair and a well lined jaw. The man is dressed in a worn tank top and skinny jeans that are tight to a point of distaste, and leaves him nothing but unimpressed.  
   
“He’s alright,” he shrugs, admiring the hair, if anything, “stop gassing him.”  
   
“Hey,” Shiro points, “he’s hot. You’re the weirdest gay I’ve ever met.”  
   
“Right,” Keith tugs the bleached part of his hair with rough fingers, causing Shiro to yelp, and Matt to chuckle at him. Maybe sleep was a better option. Maybe he’d wake up in Vegas, to casino slots and bottomless drinks…

 

\-----------------

 

For the record, he _does_ wake up to their safe arrival in Las Vegas, Nevada. If he doesn’t count the exclamations of Shiro and Matt, which are the true reason for his awakening, If they hadn’t been there, Keith is sure he would’ve slept until a stewardess nudged him awake.  
   
Checking into the hotel is swift as well, everything working out just as they had planned. Keith had taken out massive slices of time to make sure every single aspect of this trip went accordingly, their lives too hectic for any massive screw ups. His two friends had obviously only aligned themselves with the planning logistics for the ride, but Keith didn’t mind then, and he doesn’t mind now. Shiro and Matt have done so much for him in the past. Setting up this trip for the three of them was nothing.  
   
Keith probably has about ten minutes of peace curled into his fresh sheets before Shiro and Matt come knocking on his door insisting they attend the fireworks show, for reasons that Keith will probably never understand.  
   
“It’s literally like every other firework show in Seattle,” he groans, throwing head head back into his pillows. They’re so comfortable; too comfortable to leave all by their lonesome.  
   
“Keith! It’s different!” Matt exclaims.  
   
“How?”  
   
“It’s _Vegas_.” They both say, as if they rehearsed it down to the emphasis.  
   
So that’s how Keith finds himself standing in the center of the Vegas strip, head tipped to the sky as he gazes at various explosions of color. Reds, oranges, hell, the whole gay ass rainbow and all it’s fantastic colors flash in front of his eyes, just as they have in their college town. Keith rolls his eyes at the Americans (he _knows_ they’re Americans; it’s the way they push through him in order to look at the same god damn sky as everyone else) snapping pictures, mesmerised by the same old fireworks show that he swears these people must pull out of their asses. It’s as if asking for something different is like pulling teeth.    
   
“These fireworks are lame as hell…” Keith mutters to himself, his body still, arms folded across his chest as the firecrackers explode in the sky, unshocked and unimpressed. He safely assumes neither Shiro nor Matt heard him over the noise, the two of them still mesmerized and taking a long stream of photos on their phones.  
  
“I know right.”   
  
Keith turns to the side where the voice continues to speak,   
  
“I mean, we’re paying like what, thousands of dollars? And they can’t give us a big finale, or something more interesting than a bunch of willows?”  
   
Keith doesn’t know what a willow is, but his mind tells him to forget it as his eyes settle upon the person beside him. The voice belongs to a man slightly taller than Keith, probably no older than twenty three. He looks to be fairly built, a tight button up showcasing a set of evident muscles. Chestnut curls frame the soft expression written upon his face. The vibrant blue in his eyes shine with something that makes Keith’s heart stir, and his brain tick.  
   
He looks… _familiar._  
   
“Yeah,” he replies as another firework pops behind them. Keith cards through his memories, trying to figure out just where he would have seen him. Those eyes are too piercing; you don’t see them in a crowd without looking back again.  
   
“What are you…staring at me for…”  
   
Keith’s brows raise, realizing just how strange he probably comes off as.  
   
“I’m sorry!” He apologizes quickly, yelling over the excited clamors of the crowd, “It’s just, I swear I’ve seen you somewhere.”  
   
“Probably on uh, a poster or something?”  
   
The man cocks a sheepish side smile. _A poster?_  
   
Then it hits him. He’s the man on the _plane_. In the movie that Matt and Shiro were watching.  
   
“You’re—”  
   
Before Keith can even express a thought, Lance _fucking_ McClain has his hands on his mouth, drawing in a breath before pulling him close.  
   
“Not too loud, yeah?” He requests, “I’m on vacation.”  
   
Keith grips his wrist, pulling it off his mouth before shooting him an irritated scowl.  
   
“I wasn’t going to be loud! I’m not an idiot.”  
   
“Sorry,” his smile only grows, “I have to automatically assume that everyone’s an idiot. No matter how…”  
   
Lance voice fades as the crowd cheers behind them, and both their attentions draw away from the other. Whatever he wants to say seems to hold no importance as the fireworks conclude.  
   
“Hey,” he says lowly, “wanna be my partner for the night?”  
   
“Your _partner_?” Keith asks incredulously, “I—we just met!”  
   
He thinks he remembers reading a fanfiction about something like this; some e-book one of his younger cousins probably made him read. Keith’s gaze flickers sharply from the famous actor, storming away as he scans the bustling crowds for his roommates. Fucking, _ridiculous_ . Famous or not, he doesn't know the man. Who he _does_ know are his friends, who he needs to find.  
   
Since the main attraction has come to a close, the masses have chosen to migrate in his direction, heading for the boardwalk, or their hotel rooms, where Keith _should_ be headed. The soft pillows sitting pretty on his crisp white hotel sheets await him, crying to comfort his poor, aching head.  
   
But he’s successfully lost Shiro and Matt in the crowds, and unsuccessfully shaken off the brunette that has already wrapped a vine around his neck, binding them together.  
   
“Okay okay!” The shrill voice drags Keith out of his search by the ear and he sighs, turning begrudgingly to the man, “Wanna know the truth?”  
   
“So you were lying?” Keith glares, crossing his arms. More annoying with every second that passes. Great. This is his life now.  
   
“Yes—but that’s not important right now! Can I tell you the truth?”  
   
Keith doesn’t know what reason Lance would have to lie but at the same time, with his chosen career choice, he could probably think of a circumstance or two.  
   
“Sure. Fine, the truth, go.”  
   
“I’m just trying to get away, you know?” He bares his teeth in pleading and Keith snorts, turning his eyes towards the ground as he continues, “I’ve got, this _huge_ best friend turned bodyguard, and this helicopter manager that, well, honestly I control her. But still, I just needed to get away from them, and I need civilian cover.”  
   
Keith’s been used plenty; mostly for homework, tests, money, or friendship on the rare occasion. This, he thinks, is the least insulting of them all.  
   
“Fine. What exactly do you have planned?”  
   
Lance purses his lips, pretending to think and putting a finger to his chin. Normally, Keith wouldn’t have humored this, and he doesn’t see a reason to bend that normality here. He glares up at the man, snapping his fingers impatiently.  
   
“Hey,” he snaps, “not cute. What are you _planning?_ ”  
   
“Let’s just, take a walk, yeah?” Lance suggests, motioning to where the waves crash onto the shore, “I’ve wanted to take a walk for a long time.”  
   
“And you can’t do that by yourself?”  
   
He pouts, clasping his hands together and muttering a string of ‘ _please’_ s before Keith agrees, skating on the brink of pure agitation. Anything to stop him from actually dropping on one knee and _begging_ is suitable at this point.  
   
Pleased with his victory, Lance takes it upon himself to drag them to the oceanfront, eager to arrive and begin their walk. Everything is happening too fast for Keith’s tastes, barely knowing the man’s name before he’s being dragged off to hang out and talk to him. More than ever, he craves his hotel room and his friends. But he thinks back to his inner plea for something different than the damned fireworks display, and supposes this is what he gets for expecting more out of the tourist business.  
   
“So…” Keith tries to make the best out of the situation as his sandals sink into the sand, “you’re uh… famous…?”  
   
“Not really, but uh, here I’m famous,” Lance responds casually, slowing his jog to a slow stroll, “I was filming in New York City, and I had like five days off, so I figured I’d just come to Vegas, you know?”  
   
“Why _Vegas?”_ The waves crash on the shore again, Keith’s eyes following the flow of the water to make sure it doesn’t brush up against his toes, “I mean, you could have gone to an island. Don’t you wanna sleep?”  
   
“I slept on the flight here,” he rolls his eyes, “please, you know I don’t like to lounge often.”  
   
Keith’s eyes narrow at that statement, obviously coming from a place of presumed notoriety.  
   
“Apologies, but I don’t _know you_.”  
   
“Wait,” Lance stops them, eyeing Keith as he turns to face him, “you’re not a fan?”  
   
Okay, that’s it for the night.  
   
“I’m going back to my hotel room,” Keith tries to break away, but Lance grabs his wrist against pulling him close.  
   
“I’m sorry!” He exclaims, voice dropping to a low whisper as heads turn towards them, “I’m sorry I’m sorry. It’s just, I’m _used_ to most of the people I meet my age being fans?”  
   
“Well don’t get used to it.”  
   
Keith, though wary of his decision to spend his evening with Lance, decides to stick around anyway. He seems, desperate, of all things.  
   
“Tell me, about you then.”  
   
Lance’s second attempt is much better, a bit more inclusive, though Keith really isn’t in the boasting mood.  
   
“There’s isn’t really much,” Keith shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “I uh, live in Seattle?”  
   
“Seattle? I went there once! We filmed something for _Death of a Thousand Roses_ there.”  
   
“Really?” Keith’s brow cocks upwards at the mention of the movie that Shiro and Matt were watching. _Shiro and Matt_. He wonders how they’ll react once telling them this story.  
   
“Heard of it?”  
   
“Mmm, saw a poster.”  
   
“So you _do_ know me.”  
   
“Shut up—”  
   
Before he can call Lance a nimrod, or an idiot, the actor is shielding his small frame with his lanky body and grasping at his hand again, forced laughter escaping his lips.  
   
“What the hell? What are you—”  
   
“Pretend to laugh,” he whispers, “people.”  
   
Keith tries to pretend, still not believing this mess he allowed himself to get wrapped into. He’s positive his fake laughing sounds worse than awful, probably like a dying crow, but still continues with the slight fear that Lance is, deep down, a serial killer.  
   
Once he stops, Keith follows, confusion contorted on his face.  
   
“Fans?”  
   
“They looked at me,” Lance huffs, looking around, “so you know, maybe.”  
   
“Or maybe they were just _people_ ,” Keith counters, “walking along the beach. Just like we are.”  
   
“Or, hear me out, they could be fans. I’m just saying, you know?”  
   
Keith laughs for the first time that night, this one real and truly from the bottom of his heart. Lance stops walking to look back, a strange smile forming on his face. The younger stares back, just as confused.  
   
“What?” He asks.  
   
“Nothing,” Lance responds, “you just uh, have a nice laugh. The real one I mean, not the fake one.”  
   
Keith’s cheeks burn, falling back into his pace.  
   
“Thanks.”  
   
For the rest of their time together, Keith learns that acting really isn’t all that, and Lance learns the curses of astronomy, and more specifically, astrophysics. Once they get past the kinks and the awkward bumps in their interactions, things began to flow. Keith sees it all as a nice first night, meeting someone he never expected to run into, and having them take him on this wild, unnecessary endeavor.  
   
Though it was mindless, something about it was fulfilling. That, and the daunting pleasure of Lance never releasing Keith’s hand after they had shielded themselves from his so called fans.  
   
“Can we go somewhere else tomorrow?”  
   
They’re in front of Keith’s hotel now, the end of the night in sight. It’s not too late, they could probably go somewhere else, see something more, but Keith’s tired. He’s not sure if Lance can see that, but he assumes he does, being that he was the one that offered to walk him back.  
   
“Where?” Keith asks. Truly curious as to what he’ll say, he doesn’t mind urging further.  
   
“I’ll surprise you,” he shrugs, fiddling with his fingertips, “what do you say?”  
   
Keith ponders for a moment. He’d come on this trip with Shiro and Matt, yes. And he _should_ be spending time with them, yes. But, the glistening promise in Lance’s sea blue eyes tugs him closer, that vine around his neck _still_ working against him.  
   
“Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe the next day?” He asks, keeping his friends in the back of his mind.  
  
“Tuesday,” Lance confirms instead, “here.”  
   
“Eight o’clock.” Lance says, and Keith nods, his heart beating just a bit faster when Lance takes his right hand, pressing his lips to the coarse skin.  
   
“See you then.”

 

\-----------------

 

Keith holds his own hand as the elevator ticks away in front of him.  
   
_Three… four… five…_  
   
He’s tempted to smack himself, make sure that he’s not dreaming. He can’t avoid the blatant fact that he’s certainly been, well, _wooed_ upon first sight. He doesn’t know Lance well, and though he seems to come off as the cocky, self obsessed type, there just might be something lying underneath.  
   
_Six… seven… eight…_  
   
Maybe he should just tell Shiro and Matt about it. They’ll know what to do.  
   
_Nine… Ten…_  
   
Keith arrives on their floor, elevator doors peeling open as he walks across the way to his joint room with his friends. He digs around in his pockets for his room key, uncovering it with relief as he slips it in the keycard slot. As soon as he opens the door, the two men as all over him.  
   
“Where were you?” Matt goes first, “we haven’t seen you all night!”  
  
“Yeah,” Shiro’s next, “where did you go?! Did you…”  
   
They exchange various guesses as to where Keith has been. Though he’d originally considered telling them everything, suddenly, keeping Lance as his own little secret seems to be much more appealing. So instead, he waits for their clamoring to still into silence before responding with a simple, “I went on a stroll. Along the beachfront.”  
   
The night calms afterwords, the three of them staying up and planning their day for when they wake up, but all Keith’s mind rattles with is _Lance_. Blue eyed, curly haired, strangely charming, Lance.

 

\-----------------

 

Tuesday, Lance is at the bottom of the red carpet steps leading to the front doors of Keith’s hotel room, just as he promised. Keith stands at the top, arms crossed until Lance waves his hand, urging him to come down.  
   
“Come on, Kogane! I got something good for your uptight ass tonight.”  
   
Keith ignores that comment, willing to give the night a try as long as he continues to exercise that tactic. He’s surprised that Lance’s loud voice hasn’t gotten him spotted by any possible _fans_ of his as they walk to an unknown location. His hand laces with Keith’s the same way it did the night they met, when they walked along the shore, but this time Keith allows it. Something about it already feels familiar, as if it was supposed to be there from the beginning.  
   
Lance is certainly a talker. Keith had drawn that conclusion earlier, but to hear it again the second night shows that the tendency to ramble is leaning towards a pattern, rather than a coincidence. But as much as Lance loves to talk, and talk, and _talk_ , there’s a soothing note in his voice that inclines Keith to listen. He’s not even sure what he’s saying; his voice is that of a lure song, or perhaps a lullaby. Whatever it is, it’s more soothing, rather than irritating by the time they arrive at their destination.  
   
Keith’s eyes widen as they stumble upon a nightclub, lights of every color and more flashing from the inside out, a line stretching to a few restaurants down the strip blocking the entrance.  
   
“Oh my god…” Keith whispers. This isn't for him. No no _no—_  
   
“Now _here_ , sir, is where I would throw around my name. Lance McClain doesn’t wait for lines.”  
   
Lance maintains a tight grip on Keith’s hand as they walk past the impatient line of people. Keith feels more than out of place in a sea of tight dresses, loose ties and tall stilettos.  
   
“Don’t worry about it,” he senses his discomfort from a mile away, “no one really cares once you’re inside.”  
  
Keith is ready to protest that claim but when he’s suddenly greeted with loud, blaring music and a hundred, if not a thousand, circulating drinks, he suddenly understands what Lance means. There’s so much going on inside, so many moving parts, that Keith’s outfit is the last thing people are going to be looking at.  
   
“Come on,” Lance nods to what seems to be the eye of the storm, “let’s go dance, yeah?”  
   
“Nope.”  
   
Keith’s entire body freezes up at the mention of dancing.  
   
“No…?”  
   
“No. No dancing. I’ll stay here, you can go.”  
   
“Okay,” Lance turns his body halfway to a waitress that holds a tray of drinks, picking two up with his thin hands and handing one to him.  
   
“What do you need? Liquid courage?”  
   
“I—”  
   
“Here, drink up.”  
   
“What is this?” Keith’s face scrunches, picking at the leaves that dress the drink, perturbed by it’s green pigment.  
   
“Right,” Lance mutters under his breath, “you’re twenty-one. You know, you should know more about drinks. Aren’t you in college? What are you doing there—”  
   
“Just tell me what’s in _this_ drink, huh?” Agitation bulges in Keith’s pupils and Lance holds his hands up in defeat before taking a long sip of his matching drink.  
  
“It’s a mojito. Just try it, you’ll like it.”  
   
Keith’s heard of it; Shiro’s mentioned it being Matt’s favorite drink, or something like that. He takes an experimental sip, mint and lime on the tip of his tongue. He expects to grimace, disgusted by the taste, but it’s good. It better than good, if he were to extend his enjoyment that far. He takes the rest rather quickly, finishing the entire glass with ease, and close to Lance’s time as well.  
   
“Okay,” he slams the glass down on the counter besides them before gripping his hand again, pulsing with excitement, “ready now?”  
   
“Lance, I don’t—”  
   
But the young man ignores his pleas, taking him full force and _dragging_ him to the epicenter. It isn’t until he finally stops, that Keith tugs back roughly, halting any other movement. He can’t do this. This is _way_ beyond his comfort zone, too much. Too crazy.  
   
“Lance—” He tugs again, “ _Lance_.”  
   
The brunette trips over his own foot upon the sudden stop, but Keith catches him with a quick move of his arm. He looks at him, thin brows knit together in the first hint of annoyance he’s seen in Lance since they met.  
   
“I don’t dance,” he explains, “I—I can’t.”  
  
“Why do you say that?” Lance glances at him, concern glistening in his eyes as he maintains contact. Though he comes across as attentive, Keith has a nagging feeling that Lance won’t just give up because Keith said so.  
   
“I never learned how.”  
   
To this, Lance laughs. Throwing his head back, clutching his heart, and _cackling_ . Keith glares at the display, being that he’s only telling the truth. He’s an astronomy major; dancing wasn’t exactly one of his requirements in college. He skipped prom—a choice he’ll never regret—to go down to the shore earlier than everyone that would be arriving the next day. It was never important, and even now, as Lance has him in the center of probably the biggest dance club he’s ever seen, it’s _still_ not important.  
   
“That’s bullshit,” the brunette chuckles, a teasing, but gentle smirk on his lips, “you can’t teach someone how to dance. To dance, is to let go.”  
   
The answer he receives is far from the one he expects. Then again, he learned that that’s a given with Lance.  
   
“Just follow me—yeah?”  
   
Goosebumps rise along the bare skin of his hip when Lance places his hand there, soft and firm as it dips underneath his shirt. As if he’s danced this dance a thousand times, with a thousand partners. But when their hands entwine, and their eyes meet, it’s for him. Sea blue eyes speak to every stir of his heart, leading him through each step as swiftly as Lance has led him through the night.  
   
He thinks it’s _Despacito_ they’re dancing to, but Keith’s attention isn’t on the music. He’s doing as he was told, following Lance’s every move. His body is at Lance’s mercy, eyes refusing to tear from his partner. Lance moves with the fervor and skill of a professional dancer, legs and hips like lightning as he falls in step with the beat that thumps in his ears.  
   
Song after song passes, Keith’s muscles tensing less, his eyes closed and arms moving freely with Lance’s as he falls in love with the floor their feet dance upon. Lance—though he gets pretty damn close to crossing a line—keeps his moves at a respectful intensity, not reaching the height of those who grind relentlessly in odd corners of the venue. The most he does is run the pads of his fingers along his abdomen and back down to his hips, where he grips and sways, each movement tight and precise. Besides, Keith doesn’t mind the subtle flutter in his heart that comes with the sensations.  
   
They last until about two in the morning, when Keith’s ankle starts to ache, and Lance can barely breathe. The student offers to walk the actor back to his room this time, hands clasped together like they always are. But this time, Keith can’t seem to tame the pounding in his heart. It isn’t until Lance is inviting him up to his hotel room, that he realizes he isn’t out of breath anymore. His heart pounds because of the hand entangled with his.  
   
Lance gives him the grand tour. A whole three rooms _totally_ meant to blow Keith out of the water, according to the brunette. It’s extremely different from Keith’s, taking the furniture, the view and, well, the extra rooms into consideration. Most of it doesn’t interest him, strolling through his space quietly while rolling his ankle occasionally as he lets Lance ramble about a painting he hates. Keith doesn't find a need to speak until he spots a navy guitar case peeking from underneath his bed. He crouches near the edge curiously, tugging it out so he can look fully. On the case, a _VIVIR MI VIDA_ sticker is plastered on the corner, along with a various children’s stickers.  
   
“And you know, I think it’s rude for me to go down and ask them to get rid of it, because what if it’s someone’s dead grandmother’s? I don’t know, I just—”  
   
Lance’s rambling succumbs to silence when he turns to Keith, who is fully focused on the contents of his guitar case. The man looks up once he hears Lance’s footsteps fast approaching, scooting back from the case. He’d been so drawn in by the authentic possession in the midst of all the fancy, expensive belongings, he hadn’t even realized how invasive he was being. But Lance beams down at him regardless, pummeling any and all fear he had of such a claim.  
   
The brunette feeds his curiosity instead, opening the latches and lifting the cover open, revealing what Keith’s sure is the most suiting guitar for a personality as rampant as Lance’s. Simple, yet still harboring that enticing edge that makes you crave more. Here, he sees that _yeah_ , Shiro and Matt didn’t exaggerate. Lance is…pretty hot.  
   
Keith’s heart pounds. Lance hovers close to him to reach for the instrument, hands curling around it with an extra delicate touch as he takes it out of it’s casing. He treats it like a newborn as he cradles it in his arms before gazing back up at Keith with these… dreamy, irresistible eyes. The ones that he surely uses when he’s acting, but this time, they’re for the man sitting on the floor of his hotel room. And it’s driving Keith up the damn _wall_.  
   
“You play?” He manages to stutter out.  
   
The guitar is an antique without a doubt, pale wood and a custom rosette decorating the front. Keith’s certainly seen it before. Perhaps out of movies, or in one of those antique shops in the mall he never visits.  
   
“Oh! Yeah,” Lance’s fingertips curl around the neck of the instrument, “it’s a Taylor 110. Was my dad’s before he passed away.”  
   
“Shit,” Keith doesn’t realize he’s hit a soft spot, “I’m sorry for your loss. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”  
   
“No worries, he’s in a better place now.”  
   
He takes hold of the leather strap, tossing it behind his shoulder before sitting on the edge of his bed and offering, “Wanna hear something?”  
   
“Well, I dunno…”  
   
Lance tunes the guitar regardless of Keith’s heed, “I-It’s getting really late. I should probably meet up with Shiro and Matt before they get back in.”  
   
“You sure?” Lance’s brow curves, conniving as he strums a chord,  “I can play you whatever you want?”  
   
A warm breeze wafts into the room through his wide bay window, the comfort it brings compelling Keith to sit down and listen to whatever he has stored in his arsenal. He has to admit that he didn’t take Lance to be a musician as well as an actor. Matt and Shiro—having more influence on his views than they should—made Lance out to be, well, what _everyone_ thinks he is.  
   
“Anything?”  
   
Lance has to tune a bit before starting, but Keith doesn’t mind in the slightest. He takes personal joy in watching Lance tinker and toy with things. His eyebrows scrunched, eyes falling upon nothing other than his conquest. It’s the one time that his normally scatter-brained personality narrows down to something more.    
   
“ _I'm an alligator…”_  
   
Keith’s body stiffens as Lance belts the _last_ song he thought he’d know.  
   
“ _I'm a mama-papa coming for yooooou…_ ”  
   
There’s a dramatic color to it—something purely Lance—that Keith has come to recognize in their short time together. An extra flare that makes everything he does just a _little_ bit better as he closes his eyes, loses himself in Lance’s voice, wrapping around him like silk, kissing his skin and warming his heart.  
   
_“I'm a space invader,_  
_  
__I'll be a rock 'n' rollin' bitch for you,_  
_  
__Keep your mouth shut,_  
_  
__You're squawking like a pink monkey bird,_  
_  
__And I'm busting up my brains for the words…”_  
   
Lance taps his hand against the wood, mimicking the drums and flowing into the chorus.  
  
_“Keep your 'lectric eye on me babe,_  
_  
__Put your ray gun to my head,_  
_  
__Press your space face close to mine, love,_  
_  
__Freak out in a moonage daydream oh yeah…”_  
   
Keith’s eyes flutter open once the strumming stops, a doting expression painted onto Lance’s gentle, soothing features as his worn fingers trace the neck of the guitar. He doesn’t want to interrupt, only watches as Lance admires his father’s beloved possession. Keith can only begin to wonder how many songs were played on that guitar, how many moments he shared with his family, all of them surrounding the sounds that he would play.  
   
“It sounds beautiful,” Keith dares to inch closer to him, hand falling onto the instrument, “you, sounded beautiful.”  
   
Lance smiles, resting his hand on top of Keith’s, rendering him breathless. For a moment, the two only look at each other, physical and emotional intimacy at its peak. Lance’s smile isn’t wide, but it still encapsulates that same happiness and _ridiculous_ charm as his thumb runs against Keith’s skin, the caress causing him to spiral.  
   
Maybe, this is where the kiss happens.  
   
He’s watched enough movies to see where this is going, no doubt Lance has _been_ in a few. The desire to surge forward and brush their lips together is consuming him like a wildfire, burning within every part of his body and for a second, he leans in. Ever so slowly, his knees extend, his chest pushes forward, and the possibility of tasting Lance’s lips is so _tangible—_  
   
“Thanks! I’m a bit rusty but I’m glad I didn’t _completely_ suck.”  
   
What the _fuck?_ Nausea builds up, positive his face is visually paling. His entire body retracts from the brunette’s, hand retracting as Lance begins to put away his guitar. His mind is falling apart; walls crumble to rubble, everything he’d initially assumed now being thrown back to the drawing board for reevaluation. _Holy good God_ , he yells at himself, trying not to fall back as he’s suddenly dizzy, _say something, dimwit!_  
   
“You like David Bowie?” Keith decides to address the first bomb dropped on his poor conscience.  
   
“ _Worship_ , if you may,” Lance unhooks the strap from his guitar with worn fingers, “his posters are all over my room. What did you expect; Ricky Martin? Marc Anthony?”  
   
Keith won’t admit that that’s _exactly_ what he assumed of Lance. He’ll only sound like an asshole if he does. An _honest_ asshole, but an asshole nonetheless. Still reeling from his colossal screw-up, he decides it’s time to turn in before things get worse.  
   
“No, but uh, I’m exhausted,” he lies, “I think I should go.”  
   
“Oh, course!” Lance gets up as soon as his guitar is safely tucked away, “Let’s go, I’ll walk you there.”  
   
He takes Keith’s hand in his as they exit the hotel room, and Keith doesn’t know what to assume at this point. He just doesn’t bother.

 

\-----------------

 

The next three days pass faster than Keith wants them to. Though he’s treading in a sea of confusion, Lance makes it enjoyable nonetheless. They made sure to see each other from the crack of dawn to the wee hours of the morning. Not a minute was wasted, and Keith thinks that’s what he enjoys most about Lance’s company. No matter what they’re doing, whether Keith is infatuated or at odds with the activity, his time is never _truly_ wasted. Lance’s energy keeps things lively and eventually prompts him to cross over and try a few new things. Never did he think he would like zip-lining until Lance made him wait three hours for one.  
   
He talked more at dinner, rather than letting Lance have the spotlight for the entire duration. Their conversations never really had a designated topic; they just flowed into each other, neither having issues adjusting to whatever someone else had to input. They really flowed together like the current, every decision made one that fits like a glove.  
   
The dancing doesn’t cease after their first night. Lance makes it a mission to take Keith out to a different club every night. Some, neither of them liked, but others, Lance hit it on with the owners at a speed incomprehensible to Keith.  
   
“Ey, mi amigo, ¿cómo estás?” Lance had spoken to one of the owners of the club they’d decided to visit the next day, “Tu lugar es _muy_ muy bonito, si?”  
   
The conversation had gone on like that; in a language that though Keith couldn’t understand, still managed to make him sweat underneath his loose button down.  
   
Yeah, Lance is bilingual. And it does indescribable, enthralling things to Keith that night when they dance. Maybe he gets a bit too out of hand, but Lance doesn't seem to mind, so neither does he.  
   
Upon the arrival of their last night in Nevada, Lance offers to buy dinner at one of the more high end places along the strip. And though Keith insists they go to one of their usual places, Lance insists they honor their last night together right.  
   
So he let’s Lance treat him, spend over three hundred dollars on a meal that they could have easily gotten somewhere else for a significantly cheaper price. But there’s something about the way he says it, claims that he _needs_ to treat Keith, make him feel like a king, make him feel _wanted_ , no matter the price. It leaves Keith buzzed without a drop of alcohol in his system.  
   
Things take a peculiar turn when Lance opts they skip the hopping excitement of the night clubs. Instead, he offers to show Keith a dance up in his room. His stomach twists into itself at the mention of dancing in Lance’s room instead of the venues they’d become so accustomed to. It was easier for Keith to mask his festering feelings for Lance amongst the sweaty bodies crowding their space, leaving them with little room to think deeply, to _really_ look at each other.  
   
But Keith nods his head nonetheless, no escape in sight. Lance takes his hand. The journey to his hotel seems to last an eternity.  
   
Lance teaches Keith something similar to a rumba once they arrive at his suite. They relocate to the balcony, craving the cool air over the stuffy, crowded bedroom. The breeze cards through Keith’s unruly curls, his body pressed against the brunette’s. Admittedly, Keith hadn’t known a rumba was so intimate, so _hot_ , when Lance had suggested it. Keith was getting used to the more demanding steps, excited for another test of his speed.  
   
But when Lance grasped his hip, it was with a different intimacy than the one at the night clubs. His hand slid against his skin with ease, already familiar with his partner, but it hovered, lingered for a moment before clutching softly. There was a lack of dominance, replaced with with something so benevolent, it sucked the air out of Keith’s lungs.  
  
Their hands tangle, and Lance shifts them backwards without a word. A puff of air from his mouth spreads along Keith’s collarbone as he twirls with the taller man, each step he takes lifting him further into the clouds. Lance’s head nuzzles beside his. Wisps of his hair brush his jawline. There’s a moment when Lance spins him around, back pressed against his chest as he rolls his hips, tender, but sharp with every rotation. Keith follows, fully accustomed to the movement of Lance’s body to the point where he can mimic well. He turns him back, a smile amongst his features as they return to their standard hold.  
   
Keith wants to rest his head on his shoulder, let his eyes flutter shut as he sucks in the last of this beautiful adventure. Inhale the scent of pineapples and expensive shampoo before he’ll never smell it again, hear the faint stutter of his beating heart until he has to pull away. Walk back to his room, curl into his sheets, leave the fantasy.  
   
Tears manifest in the corners of his eyes and he tries to chase them away, banish them to his tear ducts until he’s alone. They’re dancing now. He’s not gone yet. Now isn’t the time to cry. For now, he can stay caught up in the dream, swim in the colors of the affection he has yet to name. It isn’t love, no, but he can’t call it off as a one time occurence. Lance is so much more than that. _So much more_.  
   
Keith freezes when he feels Lance’s hand free itself from his, prepared to draw back completely and rehearse his goodbyes, only to feel lanky arms lock near his lower back. Lance’s chin falls to the dip of Keith’s collarbone, a light tug bringing them flush against each other once more. Keith sustains his gasp, teeth digging into the flesh of his tongue as Lance breaths steadily into his skin. Keith wants him to press his lips down, gentle and chapped against his burning skin. Mark him deep enough so he can treasure it until he’s back in Seattle, and he can _still_ feel his lips where they land.  
   
Keith’s hands clutch his shoulders. His heart cries out for this moment to last forever, for Lance to whisk him away to wherever he’s meant to go next, the world at the tip of his finger. Because here, in his embrace, nothing matters.  
   
Nothing matters when they’re dancing.

 

\-----------------

 

Keith’s eyes never adjusted well to early morning light. This applies to the rays of sunlight that peek into Lance’s hotel room as well. He barely registers the night before, patchy images of Lance’s balcony, the moon, and the ghost of cherished touches the only living remnants.  
   
He turns from the window, almost rolling into Lance’s limp body, fast asleep and snoring into his white pillow. Keith can spot drool trailing from the corner of his mouth, and can’t help the smile growing. It’s… cute. Grounding, domestic. Something he never thought he’d notice when looking at a man he’s fallen asleep beside, but it’s nice to ponder.  
   
His cell sits on the bedside table (Lance must have put it there once he’d fallen asleep), buzzing with notifications. _Probably from last night_ , Keith thinks, picking it up and scrolling through a sea of _Shirogane_ s with his thumb. The time reads 7:08 AM, signifying that Shiro’s texts are from at least four hours ago.  
   
**SHIROGANE:** KEITH  
   
**SHIROGANE:** KE I TH  
   
**SHIROGANE:** WHERE ARE YOU LMFAO  
   
**SHIROGANE:** I’M SI DRUNK, I MIGHT DIE  
   
**SHIROGANE:** LMFAO I’M WEKA  
   
**SHIROGANE:** IS THAT HOW IT WORKS?  
   
**SHIROGANE:** KEITH WEHRE ARE YOU I MISS YOU AADNF MATT MISSEF YOU TOO AND WE LOVE YOU A LOTR OKAY?  
   
**SHIROGANE:** KEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEITG  
   
It goes on like that for about twenty more messages, Keith laughing quietly to himself as he reads through. He felt bad, originally, for leaving Matt and Shiro by their lonesome for the duration of the trip. They rarely went out and did things like this. Work, college and whatever else the universe chose to throw at them always managed to get in the way. There was a stirring guilt sitting in the pit of his stomach, completely aware of just how _often_ he ditched them. But to see that Shiro still managed to get wasted and have a good time puts him at ease. The ‘having a good time’ part, more than the potential alcohol poisoning.  
   
Lance stirs beside him, slipping out of his graceful slumber into the real world, where Keith lays innocently draped in his sheets. Keith’s body tenses as he watches him slowly come to his senses. He feels like he should leave, stumble out of his bed before he ends up in an awkward situation he’ll want to run from, but Lance looks right at him, sunlight be damned, and gives him one of the biggest smiles he’s ever seen in the early morning.  
   
“Hey,” he mumbles, swiping at the side of his mouth with as much elegance as he can muster, “you stayed?”  
   
Keith wants to reply with an incredulous _of course_ , and scold the young actor for assuming that he would simply leave after a night as…as _magical_ as the one they shared. Keith can still feel that sensation in his bones. But he doesn’t tell Lance that.  
   
“Yeah,” he replies cooly, “would’ve been rude of me to leave.”  
  
“Right,” Lance’s grin sits pretty on his face as he sits up, bare chest in all it’s glory as the sunlights shines down on him, ethereal in every way Keith could possibly evoke at this hour. He rolls over, picking up his own cell phone and checking the time. If Keith had known the end was going to come right after, he would have grabbed Lance’s wrist, told him to check the time later.  
   
“Oh _shit_ ,” he gasps, falling out of bed and scrambling to his feet, “Hunk’s gonna be here in fifteen minutes. Christ—”  
   
He paces around his room, frantically looking between his phone, his bed, and Keith’s eyes, confusion and worry pouring out of them.  
   
“Fuck, I’m gonna be—I’ve gotta go.” He stutters, “ _You’ve_ gotta go.”  
  
Keith’s heart pangs at the sudden urgency of his departure. He can already feel himself drifting out of Lance’s life, and it’s the complete opposite of where he wants to be.  
   
“Lance…”  
   
The brunette’s eyes flicker from desperation to a sadness he’s never seen. The usual sparkle in his sapphires has turned to something dull, lifeless. Perhaps, the only hint that he’s just as broken to be separated as Keith is.  
   
His shoulders slump as he opens the door, sluggish with every move. Keith tells himself not to cry for the umpteenth time.  
   
“Lance…”  
   
“Goodbye Keith.”  
   
This can’t be goodbye. It’s too good to be true; _he’s_ too good to be true. The conversation, the late night walks, the mojitos the  _dancing_ —  
   
“Goodbye, Lance.”  
   
He stands there, heart reaching out for something, _anything_ to happen in the eighteen seconds Lance stands before him in all his glory. Tall, lanky, talented, cocky, bilingual Lance. Lance, who wore a smile in the darkest of times.  
   
Lance, who gave him an eternity's worth of memories, in the span of five days.  
   
The white door shuts behind him, the lock turned, and the key swallowed. With it, Keith feels a tether strung to his heart snap and wither to the carpet. His fingertips lift to touch his lips. The same fingertips that once touched Lance’s skin, ran themselves through his luxuriant, brunette locks.  
   
The same fingertips that should have drawn him in for the kiss that his lips so desperately craved.


	2. AVEC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> avec: with

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part two! hope you've enjoyed thus far!
> 
> and i know the endnotes at the conclusion of part 1 might have thrown some people off, but this is part two! i swear the ending isn't as sad as that was. *sob*

Lance McClain doesn’t have many regrets. If he did, he’s positive he wouldn’t be where he is today. Wouldn’t have moved out to California at seventeen, despite his family’s pleas for him to stay. His audition for _Death of a Thousand Roses_ would have never stumbled on his doorstep. Each event that followed afterward depended on a cutthroat decision he had to make in the past.

So no, Lance doesn’t usually harbor regrets.

But as Keith Kogane walks out of his hotel suite, he realizes just how much he would undo to pull him back in by his tacky button up top and kiss him square on the mouth.

Lance can’t count on his fingers how much money he would give to dance with Keith one last time, to feel the curve of his hip cock in his open palm, to hear another sarcastic remark spill from his thin lips that _desperately_ needed chapstick a majority of the time.

For the first time since his ‘unbeatable career’ skyrocketed past all expectations, he feels like he failed.

Not only failed himself, but Keith too.

There was a connection between them. No matter how much of an indescribable diva Lance is, he’s never felt the way he feels with Keith. Acting never stopped him from dating, but those relationships left him with a gaping hole in his chest, nothing suitable enough to fill it back up.

Everyone he met before Keith had just been the same stories written in different point of views. Another actor from Hollywood, a retired movie stars wanting an exclusive ‘in’ back into stardom, the latest up and coming pop star. They all used Lance’s platform, rather than… anything else.

But Keith studies _astrophysics_. Hell, he’s in college, working his way to a degree and a job that doesn’t require pounds of make-up and camera ready faces. Keith despises _everything_ about Lance’s career. And while it should be insulting, it’s a breath of fresh air, a splash of cold water that takes Lance by the ankles and drags him back down to Earth.

So, yes. He should have kissed Keith. With every minute that passes, the regret builds a higher temple in the pit of his stomach, fighting to crawl up his throat. Hunk speaks of his next day of filming in Dubai, but all Lance’s mind can possibly wrap itself around is the possibility of his never having regrets finally catching up to him.

“Lance. You leave tonight.”

He returns to the present situation regretfully (there it goes), eyes slowly raising to where his bodyguard stands.

“Yes?”

“You leave tonight!” Hunk exclaims, and Lance realizes that he’s probably had to repeat himself from the tone he takes, a lick of annoyance laced in, “I have to brief you on everything or else Allura is going to kill me!”

“She won’t kill you if I tell her not to,” Lance reminds him, to which Hunk only groans, throwing himself back into the lounge chair across from him. Lance and Allura have a… _special_ relationship. The young actor is more than aware of how valuable a client he is, and how much Allura would suffer if he were to walk out on her services. Their exchanges usually end in an ‘if this doesn’t happen I’m dropping your agency’ fashion more that one would expect.

“Your methods will eventually bite you in the ass.” One of Hunk’s fingertips raise, waving it at Lance with what he assumes is supposed to be disappointment.

“This ass—” Lance turns effortlessly to point at his buttocks, not a hint of joy in his voice, “—is ensured.”

“That has none of its usual spunk,” his friend’s demeanor shifts to one of concern as Lance flops back into his original position, “what’s wrong?”

A sigh tumbles from Lance’s mouth, weighing his options in his mind. He  _could_ tell Hunk about Keith; he’s certainly had his drunken rant or two with the older man. He supposes the only difference is that he’s sober this time. And that the heartbreak actually hurts.

“Do you…” Lance sighs again, nimble fingertips reaching to press against his temple as he attempts to gather his thoughts, “Hunk. I have regrets.”

“So do I. I regret taking this job every day.”

A smile quirks in the corner of Lance’s mouth as he narrows his eyes at Hunk, who returns a friendly expression, urging him to go on.

“Remember that night I ran away from you? Went on my own little adventure and came back all stupid happy?”

“You mean the night I almost lost my job?”

He laughs, despite the serious undertones that lie in Hunk’s statement. “Yeah, that night.”

“You met someone, didn’t you?”

“The pouty grumpy kid we were making fun of,” Lance says. He regrets calling him that, teasing him for his little attitude. There's so much more to learn, so many layers he’d yet to peel away. 

“Not very pouty and grumpy was he,” Hunk says, and the brunette sags his head, chin perched in his open palm.

“I feel like… like my entire world has turned itself up on its ass, and I can’t see anything other than him. Hunk, he’s an astronomy major. Do you know how fucking sick that is? I don’t think I can even understand elementary physics, and he sat there on the beach with me complaining about _space physics_ . And he’s got this hair that just—it’s _perfect_ Hunk. It’s shit out of movies. And I would know, you know?”

“ _I know._ ”

“And he wasn’t pouty once we got along! He’s funny, and he’s sweet, and he’s a little stubborn, but—”

“What’s his _name,_ Lance?”

“Keith.” The name leaves his mouth the same way it did when the door shut; broken and longing. “Keith Kogane.”

Hunk nods, brows curved into amused arcs. Lance can’t imagine what he’s thinking right now. Well… that’s a lie. It’s probable Hunk assumes that this was another one of his enigmatic hookups. Wild nights and exotic lovers that usually ended up with him picking Lance up from whoever’s house he ended up in.

It didn’t go down so well in the press.

“It’s not like that,” he says, fighting to reassure him, “we…”

Lance’s gut wrenches.

“We didn’t even kiss.”

To this, Hunk’s attention peaks in curiosity.

“You didn’t kiss him?”

“I kicked him out! Because _you_ were coming. I just—I can’t get the look on his face out of my head. I hadn’t seen him frown until I shut that door.”

“So you regret not kissing him?”

“It’s eating me alive, man.”

Hunk nods. This is new for both of them. Lance hasn’t been known to be completely candid with his emotions. He’s a crowd pleaser; the crowd asks, he gives. There’s no room for having a temper tantrum or sobbing his eyes out in the middle of the green room. He has a job to do, and he does it too damn well to think about everything else.

His attraction to Keith doesn’t come as a surprise. Upon their first meeting, Keith’s sass was beyond everything he’d ever seen in his life. Sure, not everyone he meets will be a fan of him, but with him, he felt that energy tenfold. Every emotion that the younger man feels is on a scale so beyond average. Keith’s feelings are bright; they demand to be seen and heard. No darkness can consume them, and Lance loves that.

“I literally just wanna lay on the floor, and let a steamroller have at it.”

“That’s a little dramatic—”

“ _Take my body—!_ ” He cries out before Hunk interrupts him with a harsh snap of his fingers.

“Hey, snap out of it. You’re wallowing like a little bitch, and I hate it. What the hell are you doing? Get up, and _find him_.”

Lance groans. “Hunk, it’s not that simple. He’s leaving today, just like me.”

“You’re leaving in two hours.”

He blinks, sitting up in his seat.

“Two hours?”

Hunk affirms his statement with a nod and a smirk that curls along his jaw.

“I’m sure the hotel he’s at arranged his cab.”

“It’s worth a try.” Lance barely takes a breath before he’s up and out of his seat, snatching his jeans jacket and pulling it over his worn pajama shirt and cotton shorts. He shouldn’t be going out like this. Press will most likely be lurking, and if he isn’t careful, a handful of fans as well.

“Hunk—” Lance starts, but Hunk shakes his head in disapproval as he grabs his own coat.

“Jump first, think later, Lance.”

* * *

 

Lance let’s Hunk help him formulate the plan to locate Keith. This, because Lance is that of a hyperactive child with this chance making itself present. He feels like he’s in a movie (not _acting_ in one), and the rush of it all leaves him useless. Lance doesn’t disagree with him in the moment, but at the same time, he feels like he’s in the perfect state to create a well functioning plan.

But Hunk does all the work, driving them to Keith’s hotel, which Lance had thankfully remembered the name of. Hopes were high, and life seemed to be turned in the right direction. But the world doesn’t stop turning for the fate of Lance’s love life, and traffic struck as soon as they began their drive to Triumph Hotel.

“Hunk, can we move my flight? Or just, cancel it all together?” Lance taps away on his phone in the back seat, trying to keep his cool in the midst of their newfound madness. He wishes he hadn’t talked so much, asked Keith when he was leaving. Then he would have some kind of scale to figure out when he was leaving, at least. He wouldn’t be as paranoid that he lost his only chance to confess his feelings for him.

Then again, he already lost that chance.

“You’re gonna have to call Allura—”

Hunk means best. He always does when it comes to these things. But Lance’s helicopter boss is the  _last_ thing he’s worried about right now. If this works out the way he wants it to, she’ll have to deal with a lot more than Lance missing his flight.

“I can’t think about Allura right now, Hunk. Pass me your phone so I can cancel the flight!”

“Lance what if this traffic lets up? Then what? You’re stuck in Vegas for another night.”

“So what?! I just—I _need_ to see Keith,” the young actor stresses, “I don’t care about the flight.”

Hunk glares at him from the rearview mirror.

“Oh come on!” Lance groans, “I thought you were on my side!”

That seems to do it for him, Hunk’s phone slipping into his hands in seconds.

“Thank you,” he grins, swiping it open and working on canceling the flight. He hates to say that his career is going to have to wait, considering how much he values it, but that’s the beautiful thing about his fame. His career  _will_ wait for him.

They’re stuck waiting for traffic to loosen between the various vehicles on the roadway, and Lance tries not to let it worry him much. He tries to think of better times; memories of his week, along with the slim possibility that he could have that and more.

* * *

 

_“That guy won’t stop looking at me.”_

_Lance had seen the burly meat sack that sat across the bar from them thirty agonizing minutes ago. He was feral, his hands itching to clutch Keith’s bare hip and press their chests together with the utmost possession. Wanted to growl, bear his teeth and ask the knucklehead to double check who Keith belongs to._

_But Keith doesn’t belong to Lance. Keith—who glistens with three-hour-dancing sweat, hair swept into a perfect bun with loose bangs hanging over his eyes, sexy and filled to the brim with daring and danger when he’s loose like this—doesn’t belong to Lance._

_If he did, they would have left the club thirty minutes ago._

_“I noticed.” Lance sips his water, tongue tracing his top lip._

_“He must recognize you,” Keith murmurs under the loud thumping of the club music, and Lance can’t help but smile at his naive outlook._

_“If he recognized me, he would have come over by now.” Lance smirks gently, “He’s looking at you.”_

_“He’s not—” Keith’s gaze flickers from their subject to the brunette, eyes shifting to something that’s darker, more threatening, but still as beautiful as ever, “—is he looking at me?”_

_“_ Yes. _”_

_“I don’t want him to look at me,” He whines, and Lance can’t help but agree, fingertips still twitching with animalistic jealousy. ‘Neither do I’, he almost utters._

_“You should tell him that.” He jokes instead, earning a glare from Keith._

_“Funny.”_

_But instead of moving onward, Keith’s eyes hover on the man, staring right back._

_“What are you…” Lance doesn’t want to ask, really. The only reason why he does is that of the way his urge to know what Keith knows._

_“Actually, hold on, yeah?”_

_With that, Lance loses whatever grip he had on Keith for the night. With every step the lanky man takes, the strings attached to his heart stretch until they ultimately snap. Panic makes a home in Lance’s weak heart as his companion walks the stretch of the bar, crossing over to where the man sits. He can’t see much from where he sits, having lost sight of Keith’s electric stare a while ago. All he can make out are their bodies, Keith’s inching closer with every word that leaves his mouth. Lance ignores the angry twinge, the reminder that they’re not exclusive blaring in his ear louder than his morning alarm._

_He can tell he’s smiling, but can’t see the crinkle off his eyes. It’s only when he sees the tip of his finger trail up beefy muscle that Lance can’t bear to look any longer. He’s forced to sit and immerse himself in his own agony until Keith appears in front of his bowed head, holding two pi_ _ñ_ _a coladas._

_“What… did you…” Keith hands him the drink, unshaken and casual when he leans against the bar. Lance feels the fabric of his t-shirt brush against the hairs of his bare leg._

_“Hm? Oh, well…” He swirls the straw stuck in his mix, “Andy really wanted to buy two drinks for me and my friend from college…”_

_Lance’s eyebrows raise, hands motioning for his glass. Keith hands it to him with a devious glimmer in his eyes that would have made his knees buckle if he was standing._

_“Fast talker, are you?”_

_“I try.” Keith shrugs, tilting his glass to Lance. Quite pleased with the outcome of the interaction, Lance caves, clinking glass against glass._

_“I’ve never seen you like that before,” Lance muses, taking a sip of the pina colada. The fruity drink tastes sweeter, coming from another man’s pocket._

_“Like what?” Keith passes a hand through his loose black hair._

_“You know…_ flirty. _”_

_“I flirt, sometimes.”_

_“Well, if you say so.” The tickling jealousy simmers when Keith throws him a wink before pursing his lips and sipping his drink. They make it back to the dance floor before the night comes to an end, but Lance can’t stop himself from wondering if the way Keith presses his body to his, is_ _his own weird way of flirting with him._

 

* * *

 

Lance trips on one of the mats resting on the floor of the car in his rush to get to the front desk of the hotel. Hunk shouts when his face skids against the pavement and the cut stings like _hell_ , but all he can think is _what if I’m too late?_

He was, for the record. Keith left for the airport over an hour ago, two strapping friend of his following close behind. Lance can’t even begin to describe the descent of his heart. He’s lucky he has Hunk to keep asking questions. Lance shuts down more with each failure.

“Did you set up their transportation to the airport?” Hunk questions the attendant at the desk, “maybe we can catch them, right Lance?”

_Right._

“No no, yeah, that’s true,” he murmurs, trying to snap himself out of his drag. Keith would probably be smacking him by now, telling him he’s being a little baby and that he needs to get up and _catch him_.

“Is there any possible way you know which airport he was going to?” He asks, “It’s—It’s really important. I forgot to give him something.”

 _Everything,_ he thinks.

“The drive was short,” the man behind the counter says, “it’s probably the nearest airport.”

“Thank you,” he and Hunk reply simultaneously, gathering themselves and dashing out to the car. As he slides into the front seat, Hunk’s fingers reach over to stroke the rough scratch marks on his cheek.

“Dude, the studio is gonna _kill_ you.”

“I’ll deal with that when the time comes,” Lance murmurs, wincing when Hunk’s finger brushes along it, “I can’t think about it. Keith, Hunk. We have to get to him.”

“We will,” He nods, revving the engine, “can I ask a question though?”

“Shoot.”

“Why the guitar?”

Lance is taken back to their night surrounding his father’s guitar in one fell swoop. There was a sad look in his eyes, sure, but there was no pity. Lance thinks that’s what he loved most about playing for Keith. He heard _exactly_ where he got his guitar and didn’t fall into a chorus of sympathy. Keith took it, internalized it, and moved on. Focused on the music. Which, frankly, is _exactly_ what he wanted.

“I’m gonna play,” he murmurs, glancing at the instrument beside him, “why else?”

“Can I give you some advice then, Mr. Crowd Pleaser?”

Lance deadpans but waves his hand anyway. His father always told him that he was pretty shit at taking constructive criticism. He’d never move forward if he was never criticized.

“Hit me with it.”

“Play from your heart, because your heart is all he wants to hear.”

And yeah, that’s something his dad would say too.

* * *

 

Lance knows he’s fortunate to have experienced a lot in his short time on Earth. He’s traveled, he’s jumped off roofs into swimming pools, been to more concerts than he can count, he’s… done it all. And dancing? He’s done it since he was little; shaking what little body weight he had in his mother’s living room to the songs that would play on the radio.

Of all his new experiences, dancing never lost its importance, or it’s flare. When Lance was sixteen, he came out and told his mother he was gay.

The only thing his mother told him to do, was to make sure he married a dancer. Boy or girl, it didn’t matter. They had to dance.

Lance figures that’s why his chest tightened when he took his hand in Keith’s and it was practically a perfect fit. And that probably explained why his shortness of breath when he held his waist, crowded his space.

 _Yeah_ , Lance thinks as flashes of trees and buildings fill his eyes, _that makes sense._ He isn’t thinking about marriage, no. His life is too busy to consider settling down. But Keith has him on the cusp. Lance can admit that much.

No matter what Keith says, he’s a natural dancer. The kind that needed a little push before taking off. Like his mother.

The drive to the airport is forty minutes long, with Hunk’s skillful driving and Lance’s expert directing. Lance isn’t sure he’s prepared; there are so many steps he’s probably skipped. He probably should have gotten flowers, or come with more than a song. But Keith loved his music last time. Hopefully, he’d love it this time.

“Lance,” Hunk powers down the car, “check the board, c’mon; Go check the board!”

He scrambles out of the car upon Hunk’s command, the blood trickling down the side of his face a harsh reminder of the consequences he’s bound to face after this.

 _Stop_ , he scolds himself, _Keith. Focus, Lance._

He shuts the door with an extra force from his fingertips, feet taking him to the flight board with haste.

“Come on, come on…” he murmurs, reading down the seemingly endless list of flights. Lance’s frustration grows wildly until he sees exactly what he’s looking for.

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON - DEPARTURE: 11:50 AM**

It’s the only ‘Seattle, Washington’ on the board for the day. He glances down at his phone quickly. _They still have time._

“He’s here!” Lance exclaims, grabbing Hunk’s ironed collar and bringing them together, “Oh my god! He’s here!”

For the first time since they began their search, Lance feels genuine hope coursing through his veins like the rush of his excitement whenever his eyes caught a glimpse of Keith. In fact, the sensation is eerily similar, the same quiver of his heart. Something he’s certainly felt frequently during his time in Vegas. But it makes the possibility of seeing Keith all the more realistic. They begin to make their way through, shuffling through endless luggage and people before they’re stopped by an agent seated at one of the front desks.

“I’m sorry,” she says, eyes turning from her customer to the two frazzled men in front of her, “you cannot proceed past here without buying a plane ticket.”

“Oh no,” Lance shakes his head, “I’m not buying a ticket. In fact, I canceled my flight today. I need to see someone in there. They forgot something.”

“Sir, we can’t let you in without purchasing a ticket.” She repeats, tucking a uniform curl behind her ear. Blood boils within Lance, his next words filled with rage and determination.

“Do you know who I am?”

The attendant stares at him, confusion plaguing her until she connects the dots. Lance smirks. That’s what he thought.

“You’re Lance McClain…”

“Yeah, and I _need_ to get in that terminal.”

“You’ll have to go through security—” she starts, and Lance knows she’s only doing her job, but he doesn’t have time for that.

“It’s only me,” he lifts his hand up, “and this guitar. I _swear_.”

The attendant is reluctant but eventually persuaded by Hunk to let Lance sprint through all the security barriers to reach Keith before his flight takes off. He’s given a small, temporary security badge. It’s meant to notify the other workers that he’s man on a mission, and he isn’t to be disturbed.

He and Keith had talked about whether he abused his title in the media, as well as Hollywood. If Lance had him now, he’d probably be teasing him endlessly about how he caved. Little did he know, he’d done it for him.

Lance passes through the last security barrier, bursting through double doors and drawing little attention to himself once they shut. His cheek still burns. His eyes scan the room, searching for dark bangs and pale cheeks.

Then, it all crashed on top of him; like a hand clutched his heart and pulled it out of his chest. That’s what it felt like when his eyes fell upon Keith. One of his loose tank tops sags on his drooping shoulders, two tall men sandwiching him in. Their faces spell concern, and Lance can’t even _see_ Keith’s face.

He hurt him.

Lance glances down at his guitar resting in the firm grip of his fingertips. Wonders if it’s even worth playing now. But he’d come all this way, jumped through so many hoops. He might as well…try…

Even if Keith’s the one who sends him away for good.

_Play from your heart, because your heart is all he wants to hear._

Lance sucks in a breath, strumming the beginning of _Moonage Daydream_.

“ _Keep your 'lectric eye on me, babe…_ ”

Keith’s head whips around faster than he had anticipated, unruly mop of curls flashing about his pale cheeks at the sound of the familiar song. Lance should be ecstatic, but his panic only increases as lyrics continue to fumble over themselves.

Two older men stand behind the boy, bewildered looks on their faces as they turn from his guitar to Keith. Lance can see one of the men say something, but he’s already dropping his bag on the ground, making headway for the brunette.

“ _Put your ray gun to my head,_ ” He gets louder, despite the turning eyes and mutterings of his name. Keith is looking at him, _coming_ to him. That’s all that matters right now.

“ _Press your space face close to mine, love,_ ” Lance’s voice hits a high note on that last word, one that he probably butchered from the laughter that bursts from his lips. Tears that he’d been holding in for the longest time—since scolding himself for letting Keith walk out the door—build and dribble down his cheeks.

“ _Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh…”_ His fingers scrape against the wood, suddenly light as Keith’s white Converse come into view. There’s a sadness in his eyes; one that Lance brought upon him, without a doubt. He regrets it. _Yes_. He regrets it. And there’s too much going on in his head right now to consider the weight of that and admire what he thinks are hints of purple in Keith’s eyes, but he knows that much. He has regret for leaving Keith. And he’ll regret it even after this transpires.

“Why are you here?”

Lance expected it. He only laughs in the face of his skepticism.

“You think I’m gonna let you leave? I still have like, ten thousand songs I need to play for you—”

Keith crashes into him, and Lance takes the blow with every ounce of strength he has. His fingers clutch the t-shirt on his back. Lance’s arms wrap where his spine curves, gentle with every touch he places on the young boy. He feels he’s broken him enough, doesn’t want to squeeze too tight before he does it all over again.

“I shouldn’t have let you walk out that door,” he says, barely below a whisper. Keith’s eyes glisten. Lance’s fingertips graze the flesh of his cheek, disgustingly enamored with the shudder he feels rack through Keith’s body.

“You gave me so much. I can’t get you out of my head, and I just want more. I _need_ more. I…”

Keith laughs, and Lance realizes that the glistening was the beginning of tears that now streamed down his face.

“God I’m sorry,” he mutters, pressing their foreheads together, “you shouldn’t be crying.”

“I’m just happy,” Keith speaks for the first time since Lance burst into the airport, “I thought I was never going to see you again.”

“You’re fucking crazy, Kogane,” he chuckles softly, leaning in to brush their lips together. It’s more than satisfying when Keith kisses back, more than a regret undone. It would never truly be undone anyway; he could have been here much sooner.

Kissing Keith is real. The fireworks sparking between their mouths is _real_. This isn’t an act, or a job, or theatrics to please the crowd.

When they part, Keith keeps them close. His hands curl into his hair, his eyes pierce with joy and affection. Lance can’t breathe. He’s so happy, he can’t even explain it. It’s better than any award he’s ever won. To hold Keith and every memory they made.

“I want to take you out,” Lance says, excitement pumping into his speech, “I wanna to fly you out to Ibiza and show you how to really dance I wanna take you on set with me, and I wanna hear you criticize everything about my world because there are _so_ many things wrong—”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Keith stops his reel, a lopsided smile on his face as he continues to rake through his curls. Goosebumps raise with every line he draws in his scalp.

“Easy, tiger.” He continues, “Let’s…start with taking me out. Dinner? And a movie?”

“Of course,” Lance agrees, nodding with vigor.

“And _not_ one of yours.”

“Unbelievable.” The overjoyed brunette pecks his lips again, savoring the taste that lingers.

A small squeak from the side draws him out of the moment. He’d been so wrapped in, he forgot about the people that gathered to watch the spectacle. Lance, regrettably, also forgot he was wearing his pajama shorts in the middle of the airport with a guitar hanging off his shoulder.

“Is this my life now?” Keith asks, his voice still holding that light elation as he peeks at the cameras snapping away around them, “people looking into my business and stuff?”

He expected Keith to be the kind of person that would be upset with all the attention, but just as he is, Keith seems to be locked on Lance. Undivided attention. The only audience he needs.

“I can make all that disappear.” Lance assures him, physically turning him away from the mob, “With the snap of my finger.”

“Don’t snap it yet,” Keith hums, fingers drumming against his cheek, “just kiss me again.”

Lance’s teeth flash briefly as he leans close.

“I can do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed :') this is yet another one of my children i'm endlessly proud of.
> 
> shout out to five seconds of summer, for inspiring this fic with 'talk fast'. incredible stuff, to be completely candid.
> 
> come [scream with me](https://sheith-keef.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


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